


Kiss and Makeup

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [60]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Arguing, Domestic, Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Makeup Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, Partying, Sex, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: (Y/N) loses herself while out with friends, leaving Alan home alone to look after their toddler and newborn. A fic about arguing and makeup sex.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Kudos: 6





	Kiss and Makeup

_"You're sure it's alright if I go out?" (Y/N) asks as she strings the glistening pearls around her neck, tugging the skirt of her form-fitting black dress lower._

_"Yes," Alan persists, rocking baby Amelia to sleep against his chest. "You deserve it - you're young, you're overworked, go out and have fun with your friends."_

_"Oh, Al, you're too sweet. Thank you," she stands on the tips of her red Jimmy Choo kitten heels as she reaches up to place a sweet kiss on his cheek._

_Her floral perfume encircles his nostrils, stirring something low in his groin. Perhaps he should convince her to stay and treat her to a night of passionate lovemaking._

_"Goodnight, Bubba. Mummy loves you so much," she whispers to their tiny baby girl whose chestnut eyes are on the verge of fluttering closed._

_"Okay, Aly is asleep upstairs; I put new nappy's on the changing table; there's fresh breastmilk in the fridge--," she ticks off erratically while looking around for her clutch purse._

_"Stop worrying. I'll be fine. Here," he holds the black sequin clutch out to her with a knowing eyebrow raise._

_She sighs before softly smiling at him with a newfound twinkle in her chocolate brown orbs as she makes her way out the house, quietly shutting the front door behind her._

_"Do you mind helping with the children?" Alan requests exasperated a week later as he notices his wife's figure creeping past the nursery in the middle of the night._

_He's trying to keep Amelia's flailing arms from ripping off her new nappy as he tries to secure the tabs in place. It's faint to hear, but over Amelia's ear-drilling cries, he can hear Alyson's soft crying coming from her bedroom._

_"I'm knackered, Al," she whispers drunkenly to him as she pops her head into the nursery, her heels in hand as she stands barefoot. "I promise I will tomorrow, though, okay?"_

_She's right, he thinks to himself. She needs a break from the kids. She's young and she's been dying to go out with her friends... again._

Alan's mind plays out the memories of three months ago as he sits in the dark living room awaiting her arrival, the glow of the television illuminating his Roman features. Since then, she has been going _out-out_ consistently for the past twelve weekends with her friends, promising to return by midnight. 

It's the first time, though, that she hasn't returned at the arranged time. It's already past two in the morning on Saturday and Alan is going out of his mind. He thought watching some telly would calm his nerves, but he can't stop fidgeting with the remote, dangerous scenarios filling his head. 

Alan pauses the television, redialing his wife's number for the fifth time this evening. He is beyond worried sick. The phone rings without an answer, the familiar beeping noise signalling that he has reached her voicemail... yet again. 

"Darling, please call me back. I am worried sick about you. You said you'd be home two hours ago. Where are you? Just..." he breathes, "...let me know you're alright."

Sighing, he hangs up the phone, hanging his head in his hands. 

"(Y/N)... please be alright..." he whispers into the universe. 

He could drive into Central London, but then again, he doesn't want to be the untrusting husband. He wants to give her her space. Although come to think of it, he has been more than lenient giving her space when she goes out drinking with her friends. 

He's torn. One half of him is genuinely worried for her safety, but then the other half of him is starting to get ticked off by the fact that she would just go back on their rule of being home by midnight. Knowing her, she'll probably be walking around miserable with a hangover the next day, not being able to spend time with him or their beautiful daughters. 

Another half-hour passes where Alan walks around the downstairs area, pulling the white blinds at each window back, trying to see if she's out there yet. He's starting to really worry now, up to the point where his stomach feels sick. 

Either that, or it's the curry he had for dinner last night. 

He is just about ready to call the police before his phone on the sofa rings. His heart starts pounding rapidly against his ribcage as he hurries over, reaching over the back of the sofa. 

"Rickman," he hurriedly answers the phone without bothering to look at the caller ID. 

"H-hey, Alan," the woman on the other side of the line hiccups. 

"Who is this?" 

"It's Melanie... I'm a fr-iend of (Y/N)'s," she slurs her words, clearly drunk. 

His blood runs cold. Is she calling because (Y/N) is hurt? Or worse, been attacked? What if she's in hospital and this is a family notification call? A million possible scenarios run through his mind, each one worse than the one before. 

He's now making his way around the sofa, sitting on the edge, ready to take whatever action is needed. 

"Well, what is it?" He snaps anxiously, worried that his wife might be in danger. 

"Oh, y-yeah... Uhm..." 

He can hear the sound of loud rhythmic music appear and disappear in the background as he assumes a door just opened and closed. 

_Good, then that rules out the hospital_. 

"Can you cc-ome pick her up? She got w-waaay pissed and it's m-more than the o-other girls a-and I can handle," he hears retching in the background, splattering against concrete. 

All earlier fears escape his mind, and instead it fills itself with thoughts of anger and rage. 

_How can she be so stupid? Not to mention, irresponsible._

He huffs in irritation after telling the woman on the line that he'll be there momentarily. 

He first calls around to hear if he can get any childcare over, which he can't since it's at an ungodly hour. This makes his blood boil even more - the fact that he now has to load his two sleeping children in the car, risking potentially waking them up. 

There will be hell in this house if he has to sit with two fussing children at three in the morning, lulling them back to sleep, and a drunken wife who won't act her age. 

Not wanting to risk taking Amelia down first, leaving her all alone in the car while he goes back up to get Alyson, he decides to carry both girls down at the same time. 

He throws on his brown leather jacket, grabs his wallet, stuffing it angrily into his jacket pocket, and shoves the car keys into his grey sweatpants pocket. Without wanting to wake them, he gently picks up Alyson first since she would be the heaviest, resting her against his chest, his forearm supporting her under her butt. He manages to slip one hand under Amelia, bending down to support her against his chest, too, as he picks her up. 

Once outside, he internally swears at how cold it is. (Y/N) sure isn't making her case tonight. All factors pile against her. He hates to take his poor children out in the cold, but he can't call her a taxi since he's worried she might be defenceless if something were to happen to her. 

He opens up the back door of the blue Beamer, buckling Alyson in her car seat first, then Amelia in hers. Luckily, since they have children now, they always carry extra sets of blankets in the car in case it gets unexpectedly cold. He pulls two thick baby blankets from the boot, tucking them over each girl. Finally, he settles in the driver's seat, rubbing his hands together after cranking up the heat. 

He gives one last glance at the townhouse to make sure the front door is locked, before setting off into Central London. 

"Turn left," the British accent from the GPS instructs, Alan following suite. 

This is the third time he has made this turn and he hasn't see-- _Ah, there she is, thank god!_

He sees his wife lifting her head out of the garbage can. No wonder he didn't see her the previous three times - she's been emptying her stomach contents. _All liquid, no doubt._

"A-are you Alan?" Melanie asks, bending down into the open passenger window, the cold air escaping past her into the car. 

Alan averts his eyes, pursing his lips, as the tops of her breasts spill over her black spaghetti-strap top. Her eyes are droopy, clearly, she had one too many, too. 

"Yes," he answers shortly, looking back at her. "Can you tell her to come over here?"

"H-how do I know you're n-not just another John?" Her knee bucks but she manages to catch herself against the open window. 

"Would I be looking for a prostitute with two children in the back of the car?" He replies irritated, pointing with his thumb in the direction of the two girls. 

She shrugs, "Guess not."

He watches as the woman clumsily walks over to his wife where she's still hunched over the garbage can. 

_Does she know how much bacteria is on the surface of that thing?_

"O-oh, heeeeey, d'rling," (Y/N) plasters on a drunken smile, leaning into the open passenger window. 

He can see she is beyond her limits. Why she would want to do this to herself, she alone knows. 

"Don't you _darling_ me, (Y/N). Get your arse in this car, right now," he seethes at her, pulling on the handle of the passenger door from the inside. 

"You reek of alcohol," he says angrily as she slumps into the front seat. 

"Yeah? S'what?" Her arms do a wide sweep as her motor-control diminishes with the large amounts of alcohol swimming through her bloodstream. 

_Clearly._

"So?... I have been worried sick about you for the past three hours!" His voice raises slightly as he stares at her in disbelief. 

"Shhh... Not so loud, my h-head feels... lllike i's about... t' explode," she slurs as she clutches her head with her hands, turning away from him. 

"Good, maybe that will teach you a lesson," he reaches around her, roughly grabbing the safety belt and buckling her up. 

He crinkles his nose at how ripe she smells. Sweat and alcohol mixed with stomach contents. 

He pulls away from the curb and into the road as they set off for home, twisting to the back to check on their daughters before (Y/N)'s eye catches him. 

"You brought..." she hiccups, "the girls to a... _club_?!" Her mouth hung agape, her eyes unfocusing.

"I couldn't leave them alone at home, could I?" He looks back at the road after covering Amelia's sock-clad foot with the blanket. 

"You coulda... hired some'in to..." her words run out as she bundles a fist in front of her mouth. 

He signals at the traffic light, turning left. 

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Forget about your head, keep your voice down or else you'll wake the girls," he hisses at her lowly. 

He is not about to engage in an argument with a person twice over the legal limit. 

"I'mma be sick," she groans, her hand fumbling with the handle while the other covers her mouth. 

"Wait!" He whispers nervously, eyeing her hand that is about to open the door mid-drive, "I'll pull over."

The soft beeping of the indicator sounds throughout the car as he pulls over off the side of the road. She has just enough time to open the door and throw her head out before vomit shoots out of her. 

One might wonder why Alan isn't getting out, walking around to help her, but believe him, after three months of this nonsense he is beyond "over it". 

After waiting for her to be finished, he grabs her upper arm, pulling her upright into the car. She uses her limp arm to wipe at her mouth, her head lulling back against the car seat. 

He lets out a controlled breath moments later before pulling up to the front of their townhouse. 

"Wait here, I'll take the children up and then I'll come down for you," he instructs her, making sure she hears what he is saying as she keeps her head between her knees. 

He follows the same procedure as he did earlier, carrying both girls upstairs at the same time. He places their one-and-a-half year old in her toddler bed in her room before carrying their four-month-old to the nursery, placing her gently in her crib. 

The sound of the car door opening startles (Y/N) but she's soon relieved to find Alan's face looking rather annoyed at her in the dark. 

He wraps his large hand around her upper arm, pulling her out of the Beamer. Her legs feel like jelly as she stumbles, falling against the car door. 

With quick reflexes, he catches her, slinging his arm around her waist as he escorts her drunken self inside. 

Sinking on top of the sofa's armrest, she clutches at her head, her trailing vision contributing to how sick she's already feeling. 

Alan looks quietly at her as he shuts the door, discarding his brown leather jacket on the coat rack.

"I have been worried sick," his words are slow, deliberate. 

He watches as she shrugs, "I just... just went o-ou' frrr'a few d...drinks. Loosen up, Babe."

 _Babe?_ She never calls him babe. Clearly, she is not taking this as serious as Alan is. 

Anger rises rapidly within him as he steps towards her.

"A _few_ drinks?! You reek of alcohol, you can't even string a sentence together, woman! You didn't come home when you said you would..." He turns away from her, shaking his head before continuing. 

"I have been worried sick, (Y/N), and you're telling me to _loosen up_??"

She looks up at him through hooded eyelids, slightly shocked. Apparently, she didn't expect him to be so worked up about the matter. She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts in, not wanting to hear any more excuses. 

"Why are you so drunk, hm?" He asks sternly, looking straight into her droopy eyes. "Did something happen? Or are you just merely trying to forget about your responsibilities at home?"

"Shooo, I-I can't go out 'n'... d-drink widda few friends?" She becomes offended, pulling her drunken self forward on the armrest. "I can't have ss-ome funnnn... without you going... o-off at me the shecond I walk thr' the... door?"

"Considering I had to _drag_ you through the door, frankly, no."

"You're b-being a... pillock," she states matter-of-factly, her brain becoming fuzzy. 

"Well, I'm ever-so-sorry for caring. Apologies for thinking something terrible might have happened to you when, in fact, you were actually fucking around with some friends!"

With that last outburst, Amelia's cries sound from upstairs. 

He sighs, angry at himself for raising his voice enough to wake her, even behind closed doors. 

"Oh, great," he throws his arms theatrically up in the air, heading up the stairs. 

This is exactly what he was afraid of - his wife's drunken uncooperativeness and his children waking up in the middle of the night because of it. 

He quietly pushes through the nursery door, walking over to the screaming babe in her crib, his face softening at the sight of her. 

"Shh, Daddy's here," he whispers quietly as he leans down to pick her up gently, pressing her against his chest. 

He pulls the fluffy baby blanket out of the crib, covering her back with it as he rocks her calmly. 

"Shh, everything is alright, darling girl," he whispers softly close to her ear. 

"Mummy wanted to come take care of you," he says as he settles down with her in the rocking chair, "She feels sad whenever she knows you're sad, did you know that?"

"Shh, shh," he rests her head against his shoulder, rocking her back and forth. 

He trails his tubby index finger along her botton nose, watching as her mouth twists upward at the tickling sensation. 

He huffs in irritation as he hears a shattering of glass coming from the main bedroom across the hall. Gently, he places a sleeping Amelia back in her crib, covering her with the pink blanket. 

Upon entering the main bedroom, he notices a flower vase in pieces on the hardwood floor. He looks shocked up at his wife as she stumbles her way through the room. 

"I... w-was tryin' to get so' water..." (Y/N) slurs out, catching her swaying body against the dresser. 

_That's it._ She has done enough damage tonight and he has excused her reckless behaviour for far too long. 

"Come here," he grabs her roughly by the upper arm, pulling her into the en-suite. 

"G-get off... me," her words are unpersuasive, and she's far too drunk to feel anything anyway.

He reaches into the glass shower, flinging the nob to the cold water's side, shoving her under the stream of cold water, drenching her before she squeals out. 

"A-A-Alan," she gasps as the icy water runs down her back, her hair already hanging in wet strands around her face. 

"You need to sober up. And quickly!" He leaves the glass door of the shower open as he sets shampoo and body wash down by her feet. 

"I will no longer tolerate this behaviour of yours," his words are angry, his eyes not meeting hers at this point as rage burns inside him like a volcano ready to explode. 

"Alan..." She squirts water out of her mouth as her hands try fervently to wipe at her face. 

"I don't want to hear it, (Y/N). Sober up and then we can talk. I'll be downstairs waiting," and with that, he stomps out of the en-suite. 

She is sure he's right if only her intoxicated brain could just form a coherent thought. Perhaps the cold shower will indeed help her sober up. She takes her time under the cold water, hanging her head forward and letting the water run over her clothed body, turning to lean her forehead against the cold glass, her wet clothes now clinging uncomfortably against her skin. 

Another wave of nausea hits her and she knows she won't make it to the toilet bowl in time, so she gets sick right there in the shower, yellow vomit now circling her red kitten heels as it makes its way down the drain. 

"Jesus, (Y/N)," she moans, disappointment and embarrassment washing over her. 

She stands there, watching as the water goes down the drain. She's hoping her emptiness, sadness and regret will wash down the drain too, but it sticks firmly in her chest, leaving her struggling for air. 

Whatever did happen to her over this past couple of months? She has never been a heavy drinker nor a party head. This is so unlike her. She doesn't even like clubs. She likes the odd pub here and there, but that's it. 

She reaches for the handle, adding hot water, feeling a single jet of water hitting her just behind her ear where Alan always kisses her. She loves when he kisses her there, and it feels like an eternity since they've last touched each other now with the girls in the house. 

She keeps her head under the shower until she no longer sees everything as a blurring trail of light, and her legs no longer feel like they might give in under her. 

She starts the strenuous task of peeling her soaked garments from her body, first, her black lace top, then her black leather pencil skirt. If she thought getting into the pencil skirt was a challenge, she was wrong. 

_Wet leather sure clings to you like a second skin._

Finally, she manages to twist it around her ankles, pooling the soaked garments in the corner of the shower. She stands in only her nude mesh underwear, her dark areolas and short dark pubic hair showing through the wet lingerie. She musters enough strength to rid herself of the last pieces of clothing and shoes, before washing herself off. 

Meanwhile, Alan has been downstairs in the dark living room, the only source of light being the floor lamp casting a low glow onto him as he sits on the sofa waiting for her to come down. 

_She sure is taking her sweet time_ , he thinks to himself as he looks down at his wristwatch for the tenth time in the past few minutes. 

His one leg is crossed over the other, his foot irritatedly kicking in the air. Finally, he hears her footsteps come down the stairs. He uncrosses his legs, keeping his emotions in check. 

"I made you coffee," he says bluntly, pointing to the steaming mug of black caffeine on the coffee table. 

"Thanks, love," she sheepishly reaches for the mug while sitting down next to him on the sofa, maintaining her distance. 

She can feel the anger and disappointment radiating off of him. Her eyes slowly moves upward, secretly catching a quick glimpse at him. 

_Oh, he's angry. For sure._

"You want to start by telling me what the hell is going on?" His voice is surprisingly calm. 

Her eyes grow in surprise as she looks over the rim of her mug at him, she thought he'd rather be the first one to do the talking. 

With puffed cheeks, she gulps down the large amount of hot coffee in her mouth, before placing the now empty mug down on the coffee table.

"Alan, I truly am sorry. I swear I don't know what's been going on lately," her fingers weave through her short beach waves that are still wet and clinging to her neck. 

"I can tell you what's been going on lately," he interrupts, sitting upright, facing her with his arms crossed over his chest. 

"You're losing yourself. I give you the pinky and you grab the whole hand."

"Excuse me?" She looks at him in disbelief, mouth hung agape. 

She was going to be civil about things, but _him_ accusing _her_ changes everything. 

"Don't deny it. Ever since that first night I let you go out, you've been taking advantage of my tolerance."

"Do you hear yourself?" She breathes, "You _let me_ go out? Alan, I'm not a prisoner. I don't need your permission to go anywhere."

"No, but you are a mother with two young girls. You have responsibilities and commitments--"

"So do you, Alan," she points angrily at him. "So do you. I'm not the only parent in this marriage," she huffs with arms crossed over her chest. 

"Exactly, and neither am I. When was the last time you spent a full weekend at home with me and the girls, hm?"

She remains silent, casting her eyes down at her hands that are fidgeting in her lap as she can feel his burning chestnut stare fall on her. 

"Precisely. It's been three months, (Y/N). That makes for twelve weekends that you have been out partying until the early hours of the morning where you could have been spending that time with your growing children. _Twelve weeks._ Do you know how fast a baby grows in _twelve weeks_?"

His face scruches in disappointment and confusion. Confused at why she wouldn't want to spend time with him and the girls anymore. 

"Hey, listen," she stops him, putting a hand up in front of her, "I have a full-time career. A very demanding career at that--"

"As do I," he throws both arms up in the air. "Jesus, are you even listening to yourself? You're not the only one in this marriage who is working, (Y/N)."

"But I'm young, Alan," she defends, "I would like the time to go out with friends my own age and not have to worry about my job or my household chores or my children."

He cannot believe his ears as he leans in forward, anger now the emotion that takes over his facial features. 

"Are you saying that you'd rather not want the children at your _age_? Because you know, (Y/N), we did talk about this before we planned on having the children. It's a bit late _now_ to not want them."

"That's not what I'm saying and you know that! I wouldn't trade anything for the girls," her heated words push through her gritted teeth. 

_How dare he suggest that I would rather not want the girls?!_

"Really? Because tonight it seemed that you traded quality time with your family for alcohol. Loads of it, judging from the stench coming off you earlier." 

"How dare you?! I just wanted to have a little fun, let loose." 

"You've been _letting loose_ for far too long now. I think you need to put an end to it."

"You are not my father, Alan. Stop talking to me like I am your child."

"Right now, you are behaving like a child. You've been promising to help out around the house for weeks, yet you come home tired and you leave home early to avoid your responsibilities. You want to talk about letting loose? I have been unbelievably accommodating, allowing you time to spend with your friends, while I myself haven't been out to see anyone for the past three months."

"Oh, give up," she rolls her eyes, throwing her head back.

_How dare he make this all about himself??_

"Are you avoiding being at home with our family?" Alan's eyes look intently at her, demanding an answer. 

"Alan, I can't come home and relax when the house is like _this_ ," she gestures with her hands to their surroundings, Alan's eyebrows knotting in confusion. 

"Have you even looked at the place all day?"

"So it's all my responsibility now?" He scoffs, clenching his jaw. "I work too, take care of the girls, _and_ I have to keep a perfect house?"

"Look, I'm not asking for you to do a Martha Stewart spread. But I do need you to make some minimal effort. Like doing the breakfast dishes by 9 in the evening."

"Excuse me?" His eyes grow in surprise as her words fall on his ears. 

He cannot believe what he's hearing. _Minimal effort?!_ He's done nothing but clean up after her and the children, cooking, prepping meals, doing the feedings, all while editing scripts on the side. 

"You are out of line, my dear," comes his sarcastic tone. 

"Oh, what? You think what _I_ do is easy? It's no wonder - you never do anything around the house all week," she throws her hands up in the air, clicking her tongue in exasperation. 

"I'm trying my best, believe me! What do you think _I_ do all day, go to the gym?" He sneers down at her. 

He would never be caught dead at the _gym_. 

"Well, you could use a visit every now and then," she mumbles under her breath, rolling her eyes as she averts his gaze. "And what do you think I do all day," she looks back at him, "catch up on my soaps?"

"My love handles and I resent what you're implying there. Look darling, I know it's no picnic for you--"

"Resent me?" She feigns hurt, holding her hand over her heart. 

"Now, dear, that's not what I meant and you know it," he comes to his own defence, fearful that this argument will turn into banging doors and sleeping separately. 

"No, that's fine, _dear,_ you and your rolls can park on the sofa for the night. There's enough space. Don't expect me to join you, I'll be snuggling with the breakfast dishes." 

Pointing with her thumb in the direction of the kitchen, she lifts herself off the sofa, about to turn around and head back upstairs before he stops her, his forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

_Quick! Say something. This argument has drifted way off point. You're about to loose her attention. Say what's really been on your goddamn mind, Rickman._

"Fine, if you want me to say it, I'll come right out and say it dammit!" He blunders out.

She turns around with bated breath, her curiosity now peaked by what he has to say.

"I'm not happy with our sex life. There, I said it," he crosses his arms angrily, sitting back against the couch. 

Although he is embarrassed to have to admit it out loud, it is true. Since Alyson made her arrival, their sex life has been declining, and since Amelia, it's almost non-existent. After having all of (Y/N) for several years, not having had any of her for a few months felt like the air had been sucked out of him. He feels deflated, heart-broken, and isolated. 

"What. The. Fuck?" She looks down at him like he has just grown two heads, anger inside her rising. "After all I do, you're going to sit there and tell me that you're not happy with our sex life?"

"Lack therof," he reinforces cockily, one eyebrow raised. 

"Fuck you, Alan," she sneers down at him, her words dripping with venom. 

"I wish," he scoffs.

"What's that supposed to mean, hm?" She walks closer to him, hands on her hips, as she keeps looking down at him. 

"Think about it, (Y/N)... We haven't had sex in how long? Can you recall, because I bloody well can't!"

"Marriage is not just about sex... God, you're such a _man_ ," she breathes in frustration, rolling her eyes. 

"No, but I didn't sign up to have a sexless marriage, either," his eyes meet hers as he rises to his feet, now towering over her form. "I know you're tired from work, god knows I'm tired from work and watching the girls, too, but I have needs!"

"I have needs, too, Alan. But I'm wrecked at the end of the day and all I want to do is collapse."

"Would it kill you then to make some sort of arrangement to take off early one day out of the week?"

" _Every_ week?" She asks shocked.

"God, we used to do it four times a week, _at least_ ," he can't understand why this would be such an issue for her. "I'd say, yes, once everyweek would only be fair."

"That's insane. And fuck you for saying it. No," she looks away, shaking her head, running her tongue along her teeth, "no way. I'm not taking off early every week just so you can have your _needs filled_."

He's exhausted and stressed from having to juggle acting with caring for two children under the age of two by himself on the weekends. He has had to make multiple readjustments to his schedule in order to do the grocery run and tidy the house on Saturdays and Sundays, all with a toddler in the pram and a baby strapped to his chest. If only he can make her understand the way he feels. _Then tell her that!_

"We don't have sex as much as we used to, and that makes me feel like you aren't attracted to me anymore, (Y/N). I'm not going to lie, it makes me feel unappreciated." 

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as his words hit her like a ton of bricks. 

If she wasn't sober before, she sure is now. 

Never did she think that her actions would leave him feeling unappreciated or unattractive. God, does this man not look in the mirror often enough to know how gorgeous and handsome he is? He would never be unattractive to her, never in a million years. 

Her chest falls and rises, out of breath from their earlier fighting, as she stands there only now noticing his sullen features. His once mischievous chestnut eyes are now tired and dull. 

"Oh, God, Al," she groans, her shoulders drooping. "You are absolutely right, sweetheart."

She closes the distance between them, her heart feeling as if someone stabbed it with a ten-foot pole. 

"I am ever-so-sorry for letting you feel that way," her delicate hands rest on his arms that are crossed over his chest. 

"You must know how much I appreciate you..."

"As a matter of fact, I don't," he turns his head away, slightly embarrassed at what he just had to admit to. 

"Al, I couldn't have done any of this without any of your help. And you have been," she turns his chin to have him look at her, "a tremendous help."

He purses his lips, looking past her shoulders, arms still crossed in front of him like a petulant child. 

"Al, I'm so sorry for what has happened. I shouldn't have acted the way I have acted, I realise that indeed, I have lost myself a little--"

"A little?" He questions, looking at her with those eyes that she loves. 

"Okayyy, a lot. I was just so taken with the feeling of going out and having fun that I lost track of who I am. And with all the alcohol mixed in, I didn't think cleary. You are right, and I know that now. Hell, I knew it the moment I blew chunks in that godforsaken garbage can... Forgive me. Please."

There's an urgency, yet tenderness in her voice as she pleads with him, her hands still gently resting on his forearms. 

"I know what I said was completely out of line. I know I hurt you. I don't ever want to do that again, I promise," his low droning surprises her as his words reach her ears. 

"Oh, Al, no. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," her soft hand reaches up and rests on the side of his stubbled cheek. 

"You have every right to voice your needs. And please, darling, please know that I still find you extremely attractive."

He reluctantly looks down at her, meeting her gaze, his silver eyebrow raising as he uncrosses his arms from his chest, letting it gently rest on her full hips, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes, absolutely. I will never get tired of the way you look. Or the way you smell. Or the way you take care of our baby girls. It's all..." her voice lowers an octave as she whispers seductively into his ear, "...very sexy."

Alan's heart quickens at her soft lips pressed against his ear, her hot breath on his ageing neck.

He slowly turns his head towards her, leaning in and gently skimming his lips with his own before finally kissing her, tentatively, slowly, like it was their very first time. He takes her lower lip between his and gently sucks on it, earning a faint moan from her. He releases her lips and opens his eyes to see her staring at him with desire-laden eyes. 

He drops one hand to her lower back, snaking the other one to the back of her neck, tilting her head to the side so he has access to the spot he knows she loves for him to kiss. 

He leans in and first simply breathes on her neck, making sure she isn't going to pull away or tell him to stop. Once he is sure, he opens his mouth and lays it directly on the target. (Y/N) breathes heavily, her legs turning to jelly as he runs his tongue along her flesh and lightly bites down, dragging his lips agonizingly slow up to her ear. 

Alan notices her chest quickly rising and falling from her heavy breathing and drags his hand from her neck to her collar bone, over her covered chest, between her sagging breasts, and down to her thick waist. Feeling an urgency swelling in his sweatpants, he lowers his hands down to the back of her thighs, hoisting her up onto him. 

"Oh, God," he huffs out of breath, groaning as he picks her up. 

"Where are you taking me?" She giggles as they slightly stumble, her arms slinging around his neck. 

"Not very far," he breathes a laboured breath, "you're a little heavier than I recall."

She throws her head back, giving a real heartfelt chuckle as they stumble onto the sofa, Alan catching himself just in time with her in his lap. 

Their laughter quiets down, a silence filling the room, as they stare into each other's eyes. 

Alan is right. It has been way too long. 

Her tender hands slowly move upward, cupping his face in her palms. She runs her thumbs along his jawline which was unusually bristly, her eyes casting down to his lips. 

She slowly kisses him, savouring every moment like it's their first. She smiles feeling him kiss back, his one big hand flying to the back of her head to keep her there. 

His suppressed needs erupt within him and before he knows it his tongue finds its way into her warm mouth. He continues to taste her, tugging her bottom lip into the warm abyss of his mouth. She tastes of fresh peppermint toothpaste. 

She pulls back, panting, breathing shallow as her heart hammers against her ribcage. Alan groans in discontent, hands trailing down her sides as she straddles him properly, his hands cupping the back of her thighs as they bracket his sides. 

She hovers over him, hands resting on his broad shoulders, as his lips ever so slowly dance against the column of her throat. She keens against him, unconsciously grinding herself against him, causing him to moan against her skin. Gosh, perhaps she wants this just as much as he does. 

Her hands stray on his shoulders, clutching at them as his mouth ravages hers, his mouth now trailing a path down her neck. His hot breath fans her skin as he bends his head, his hooked nose brushing against her jaw and mouth hovering over the pounding pulse at the base of her neck. 

His hands grab hold of her arms, sliding down her shoulders before tugging the heavy material of her fuzzy sweater over her head. She shivers as the cold air hits her skin, his tubby fingers dancing over her skin in a rhythm that matches the frantic beating of her heart. 

He leans back, watching his wife with a heavy gaze, chestnut eyes darkened with lust. It's her turn to lean in, tracing his jaw with her fingers, her lips teasing, biting, nibbling and then soothing the places with a gentle flick of her tongue. He shudders, groaning as he adjusts his muscles underneath her. 

She slides her arms around his neck, tightening her legs around his waist as she rocks against him, smiling as he hisses. Leaning up, he captures her lips with his, the world falling away around them. 

Their kiss changes, his tongue plundering her mouth, attacking her tongue. With her louder, more desperate moans, his fingers brush over her skin as their lips continue to dance. 

His hands slide up her bare back, pressing her breasts into his clothed chest, her body arching into his touch. She suckles on his lower lip and sinks her teeth into it, trembling when he lets out a gargled curse. 

His breathing is now ragged, his body quaking with unreleased tension, and he wants nothing more than her, right here, right now. 

"Alan," she hisses, breath hitching in the back of her throat as Alan shifts underneath her, causing a delicious friction where their bodies are touching. 

It is thrilling, knowing that he is still like _that_ for her. Even after all their married years together, and after two kids. 

"Darling," he breathes back, eyes shut and brow knotted as his mouth hung agape in anticipation. 

She could feel exactly how excited he is.

She wonders why Alan hasn't once looked down at her exposed chest. Not once reached out and touched them. But she knows, deep down she knows. Judging from the way he's kissing her, the way his eyes are shut as his fingertips trail every inch of her skin, she knows. Tonight, he doesn't care what her body looks like, even though it is still beautiful in his mind, he wants to reconnect with her. He wants to _feel_ their love, make her _feel_ what they haven't felt in so long. He's trying to commit the feel of her to memory.

Well then, she shall not let him wait any longer. Her fingers fumble with the drawstring of his grey sweatpants, Alan lifting him and her off the sofa just enough for her to be able to pull his sweatpants past his erection. That thick, rock hard, uncut erection that is now pressing against the back of her thigh as she sits back down on top of him. 

she's careful not to put too much weight on him, resting one foot on the sofa next to him as she lifts herself slightly, taking his member in hand. 

A gargled moan leaves his throat as her soft hand wraps around his heated cock in a closed fist. 

"Please," he swallows, looking heavily into her eyes, "no teasing..."

Good God. His words are dripping with need, his voice slightly trembling, enough to give (Y/N) goosebumps. 

She grants him his request and instead of toying with him, sinks down onto him, her warm passage coating him in her slick juices, her tight walls squeezing him as she finally settles his full length within her. 

"You feel amazing," he rests his forehead, eyes closed, against her collar bone, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight, soaking in the feeling of her. 

She has to admit, she feels guilty having denied him for so long. Who was she kidding? She loves making love to her husband, her Alan. She was doggone crazy for not spending more time with him. And the girls. The girls...

He cuts off her thoughts as she becomes aware of his long, deep strokes filling her core. 

"Ugh," she moans, now slinging her arms around his neck, holding him tightly, too, "I've missed this..."

They don't look at each other, they don't kiss, they merely cling onto one another as they find a quick rhythm between the two of them. Before they know it, they're moaning into each other's ear, Alan grunting against the soft flesh of her chest as she grinds against him. 

"So... Have I..." His eyes are screwed shut as he soaks up the feeling of her clamping down around his cock.


End file.
